


John's Touch

by macgyvershe



Category: BBC Sherlock, Sherlock TV
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Jealousy, Love, M/M, Sherlock is addicted to John's touch, Sherlock's proposal, Story with additional bits and pieces, The abduction, The inscriptions on the rings, The wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-16
Updated: 2013-05-16
Packaged: 2017-12-12 00:44:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,072
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/805171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/macgyvershe/pseuds/macgyvershe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock has become addicted to John's touch. He realizes that he has always loved John. He doesn't know how to propose to John. But he's a genius, he'll figure it out. He'll make it work. You betcha!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Addicted to John

**Author's Note:**

> This story started out in a linear path. But sort of went off track after a while. Just hang on and enjoy the trip.

It all started out simply enough. They had been walking away from a crime scene. John slipped on a bit of black ice. Sherlock tried to catch him before he fell, but, of course, due to the intricacies of slide and melt, he miss calculated the trajectory and instead of stopping John’s fall, he merely became John’s cushion. He acquired a mild concussion which he was being quite a pain-in-the-arse about. John demanded that he go to hospital for scans.

“Really John I’m okay. It’s a minor bump on the head, not brain trauma.” 

“Might I remind you that your rather massive brain is all you have going for you and if it goes south you and I are SOL concerning future work.” This was always a good argument and Sherlock was only a fool in so many ways.

“I will submit to scanning if you promise that at the end of said scanning we exit hospital and go immediately back home.”

John was up against the wall. “Okay, you win. I will make sure that the exit happens.”

“Thank you John.” Sherlock hung his head and brought the heels of his hands to his throbbing temples.

(-_-)

“Oh, god John, I thought we’d never get out of there.”

“Well, Sherlock, you could have been more accommodating. I’ll make some tea.” 

John pattered around the kitchen doing his tea thing. Sherlock stalked into his bedroom and put on his old tee, pajama bottoms and his silk robe. John was loath to have him fluttering about with just his sheet on. 

Tea is drunk, biscuits are demolished and the night is no longer young but giving birth to a morning of cool dove gray skies.

“Sleeping?” Sherlock blinked at John.

“Your bed,” John said, “is closer.” 

Teeth were brushed, toilets completed, Sherlock took possession of his side of the bed. John ruffling those rampantly wild dark curls on Sherlock’s head, he always caught himself doing that now whenever he got the chance. They had shared a bed before under similar situations. John made his own mental computations as to when Sherlock needed to be awoken and set his internal timer. The doctor in him took hold and he knew he would automatically wake at the proper times to check on Sherlock.

“John? Will you give me a rub and a pull, please?” Like Pavlov’s dogs, John had trained his Sherlock to request John’s touch on a regular basis, especially when they were going to be this close and Sherlock wasn’t feeling his best.

John merely hummed his acquiescence and sat crossed legged at the head of the bed and pulled a soft pillow into his lap. Sherlock rolled onto his side, head snuggling into the pillow, eyes closed and already he was starting to relax in the anticipation of the pleasure to come. John began the gentle rubbing of the meridian lines of his head. Sherlock’s incredible brain may tell the body that it didn’t enjoy touch, but it lied. That same brain made Sherlock purr beneath John’s small but strong hands. The rubbing continued and slowly John introduced the gentle pulling of the hair that increased circulation and is a source of mild stimulation that Sherlock now craved on a regular basis, his normal addictive personality now being coaxed into healthier pursuits by John’s ever present calming and soothing alternatives; which, let’s face it, were on demand and so much more pleasurable than hypodermics and patches.

John continued forever, rubbing and pulling as Sherlock was left immobile, completely incapable of anything that even resembled thought. John was the only person in this universe that could turn his chaotic, overwhelming and pervasive brain off. That was an incredible accomplishment. 

Sherlock had always thought that touch was vile and invasive, but everything that John did was more than acceptable and then sought after. His touch could find pain and begin the healing, his touch could bring pleasures that Sherlock had never dreamed existed outside his meager experience of the touch of ‘others’.

John watched as Sherlock became another person, the years and harshness of the intellectual Sherlock faded away. He looked like he was 19. The hard angles of his face softened revealing an even greater beauty, John felt his heart suffer as his desire peaked. Quickly and quietly he pressed his own needs down and away. John had been rebuffed that first night out. He knew that Sherlock could easily assess his bi-sexual status, knew that Sherlock was not a sexual being and that was totally okay. What he had, what Sherlock gave to him was more than he’d ever thought to find. Day after day his consulting best friend gave him access to smiles and touches and laughter that no one else in the world would ever know. So he is many times blessed and that would have to be enough for John Watson. He would have to find comfort and happiness in what Sherlock could find it in himself to give him. He would forego any and all self satisfaction, because that is what he did; he sacrificed his desire to protect the one person in the world that he loved above even his own life, Sherlock.

Crazy-mad, insanely reckless, genius and fool Sherlock Holmes; the man he loved beyond his ability to reason. John smiled into the dimly lit room and reached over turning off the light, lying next to the elongated consulting friend, nestling close to him. Sherlock rolled against John his head resting against John’s heart; the constant rhythm bearing his love into Sherlock with each beat. Sleep came easily, John sighed into the peaceful air that encompassed Sherlock, the man he loved, but who would never be his lover. 

(-_-)

Throughout the night, with feather touches and whispered words, John brought the sleeping Sherlock to some semblance of cohesive thought and bade him drink a bit, then let him slip back into a warm slumber that seemed encompass him.

(-_-)

Sherlock woke disoriented and with a bladder begging for mercy. He wended his way to the bathroom and emptied his elated bladder. 

“You’ve been pushing fluids on me in my sleep state again, John. You know how I… John?” Sherlock holding walls and moving slowly walked to the main area of the flat. “John?” There was no patter of feet or clank of dishware, no warm answer. “John?” The world was a bit tilty and Sherlock decided to sit down so he made his way slowly to the couch. There to his utter delight he found his mobile. He speed dialed John’s number.

“Sherlock, you okay?”

“John where are you? I woke and you’re not here. You need to be here, John.” Sherlock’s breathing was becoming labored. He mind was reeling and nausea pressed against him. He was starting to breathe too fast, too shallowly.

“Sherlock, I’m a block away. Go back to bed. Go lay down. I’ll be there.” John pocketed his mobile and quickened his steps. Sherlock was having a mild panic attack. Disorientation was more acute with him that most people. It was almost as if Sherlock in these moments of vulnerability became super dependent, but what could you expect from a personality that was so overtly invulnerable most of the time.

Taking the stairs two at a time, John pushed into the flat and set the groceries down on the kitchen floor and ran to the hall. Sherlock lay curled in a tight ball just outside his bedroom. 

Sighing; a self-depreciating sigh, John berated himself for leaving Sherlock alone.

“Okay, Sherlock, it’s okay now. I’m here.” John rubbed Sherlock’s back feeling the vertebrae in stark relief, soothing and rubbing, whispering childish whispers John got Sherlock to his feet. Half walking, half carrying him John put Sherlock back in bed. Divesting himself of his coat and running into the kitchen he put everything away and grabbed a protein shake from its six-pack.

Sherlock was curling up again. John insinuated himself into the long limbs, setting the drink on the table. Rubbing and touching and murmuring nonsense he brought Sherlock back from wherever he had gone.

“John.” Sherlock recognized him and clung to John like he was the last living person in his post apocalyptic world.

“It’s going to be fine, Sherlock. Here I want you to drink some of this and I’ll stay right here with you. I’m sorry I went out. I just wanted to get some food. Storms coming and I didn’t want to go out in the rain.”

“Just hold me John,” Sherlock said his breathing returning to normal and he buried his face in John’s shirt. John slid into the bed beside Sherlock, his closeness the best comfort that Sherlock could find.

John didn’t wear cologne, used unscented personal products, because he knew of Sherlock’s hypersensitivity to sounds, sights and smell. Any of these things could all be very detrimental to the consulting friend. So he took every measure he could think of to make himself Sherlock friendly.

Sherlock, likewise, appreciated John’s many changes to accommodate him and in some sense he was constantly trying to reciprocate. Making small minute changes in his own behaviors and mannerisms. It was a constant give and take that made Sherlock stronger in some sense and very vulnerable in others. 

He came to depend on John in ways he hadn’t anticipated. 

(-_-)

Sherlock woke to find he was clinging like ivy to John. He felt much better now. He had slept really well. He looked down at John’s sleeping face. Lifting John’s left hand, his dominate hand he began to deduce it. It was a small (well all hands were smaller than his) it should have been a soft hand; surgeons usually took great care to protect and pamper their hands. John’s hand carried some softness, but it was overlaid with a tenacious strength. He could tell that John’s hand had seen a lot of action by the tiny bit of callusing that was discernible only by touch. He marveled at the hands that healed him, cared for him and touched him more than any other person in his life. He’d come to take these hands for granted. Expecting them to be there, requesting their comfort whenever he needed it. Sherlock got up to make breakfast and tea. It was the least he could do.

John woke to the scent of a full on breakfast. Sherlock was not in the bed. How strange was that? He went to the bathroom and freshened up a bit then walked toward the kitchen. 

“Ah, you are up. I was just going to wake you.” Sherlock ever the chemist/cook was in the last throes of presentation of breakfast. John sat down at the kitchen table that was actually clean of scientific experimentation.

Sherlock’s mobile rang; he ignored it as they continued eating breakfast. Finished, John got up and headed for his room when his mobile rang. 

“Hello,” John answered. “Oh, yes, I understand.” John hung up and turned toward Sherlock.

“Mycroft,” Sherlock said without skipping a beat. 

“Yeah, there’s an agent down stairs with some papers for you. Says he won’t come up; says you and he aren’t on speaking turns. I’ll go down and pick them up for you shall I.”

Snickering a bit, John went down stairs to the front door. 

John was down there for a while. Sherlock went to the flat door and opened it so he could hear what was going on. There was laughter, talking and more laughter. John was laughing, enjoying himself with ‘him’.

Sherlock began to pace around in tight circles. It was Roger Townsend. He recognized the voice immediately. What the hell was Mycroft playing at? And still they were talking. 

“John,” Sherlock yelled down the stairs, “I need you.” Sherlock heard that door close and John quickly make his way up the stairs.

“You okay, Sherlock?” The concern was written on John’s face.


	2. Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is another who wants John's attention. Sherlock feels the green eyed monster rise.

"John,” Sherlock yelled down the stairs, “I need you.” Sherlock heard the door close and John quickly made his way up the stairs.

“You okay, Sherlock?” The concern was written on John’s face. 

“What are you doing talking to Roger Townsend, one of my brother’s more irritating agents?”

“Ah, he and I had the same instructor’s in military training school. I’ve been thinking about going for some continuing hand to hand combat exercises as well as my shooting practice and he volunteered to instruct me.” 

“John, this is not be bared. You know how Mycroft works. This is just another of his ploys to…”

“To what, Sherlock, to get me in better shape so that I can be of greater assistance to you? I just don’t understand you reasoning sometimes.” 

John glared at Sherlock for his over the top controlling ways. John sighed heavily and is hoping that this discussion would just go away.

“Sherlock, my convalescence from my injury did include some physical therapy, but I never got back into a workout routine. Well, except for chasing your arse around London. So this will be helpful for my health and it will help me help you with the ‘Work’. So try to calm down and get a grip. Or do you have a conspiracy theory as to what you brother is trying to do? Kill me off with better health?”

Sherlock had his petulant child face on. “He’s trying to come between us, John.” There were minor tones of sadness in his baritone voice.

“I’m not going to leave you Sherlock. Not now, not ever. You will have to kill me and drag my dead body out the front door. Does that sink into your autocratic little brain cells? I keep repeating this over and over. It’s so BORING to be so repetitive.” He said repeating Sherlock’s admonitions to him. Sherlock hated repetition.

Sherlock huffed and turned away, walked over to the window and took his I-shall-remain-unaffected stance looking out at the streets of London.

John came to him. He placed his hands on Sherlock’s shoulders and was pleased when Sherlock’s rigid stance reduced to something less icy. 

How did John do this to him? He was turning into a tart for John’s touch. Sherlock sighed in terror for his reputation as a hard arse was doomed. 

“Everything’s okay, Sherlock. Mrs. Hudson asked me to help her with some things. I think the worst of your symptoms are over. Just relax. I’ll be back in a few hours.” He patted Sherlock like he was a small boy who is upset about a broken toy and then left.

Alone. He was alone in the flat. Damn Roger, damn Mrs. Hudson, damn John. Well, no not John. Damn Baker Street, damn his arse-of-a-brother!

Sherlock picked up his mobile and dialed his pain-the-arse older brother.  
“Sherlock, how good of you to call.”

“Just what are you playing at, Mycroft? What the hell are you trying to do to John?” 

“Sherlock, my dear boy, no one wants to injure John. Are you still suffering from that minor concussion that occurred recently?”

“You know everything about everyone. Don’t tell me that you just happened to send Townsend here by mere and total coincidence? I think not.”

“John’s health and happiness as well as yours is always upper most in my mind, Sherlock.”

“Liar!” Sherlock yelled into the mobile. 

“And just what, pray tell, do you think I’m trying to do?”

“I think you have designs on John. You’ve fancied him from the very beginning.”

There was silence from the other end of the mobile. 

“Ah! Hit the big-brother nail right upon the head, have I?” Sherlock grimaced at the mobile threatening to throw the thing against the bloody wall.

“He’s my friend, Mycroft. I will not allow you to bother or otherwise interfere with him or our relationship. He’ll never leave me.”

“He is a rather unusual combination of elements, isn’t he? And brave, I’ve not quite seen such bravery in one man before.”

“You have the whole of the British Army, Marines and Navy to pluck from, leave my John alone. I will not tolerate this, Mycroft. I will not!”

“I’m sure that John would never think of leaving your side, Sherlock. I’m sure that he is just too emotionally invested to do something like that.”

“Well you just take your agent Townsend and shove him back into your little minion closet and leave us alone.” Sherlock was livid.

“Believe me, Sherlock. I shall make sure he never darkens your door again.”

Sherlock dropped the call and threw the mobile at the couch. He was emotionally drained. He was distraught and he was suddenly so in need of John’s touch. God, how did normal people get through life with all this ‘stuff’ going on in their heads and hearts? He had to admit that his heart was engaged. His non-existent heart was terribly engaged and he needed John’s touch.

He pulled on his great coat. Twined his scarf about his long neck, picked up his mobile and speed dialed John as he headed for the door. If he and Mrs. Hudson were running errands they would be fairly close. 

He speed dialed John. “John, tell me where you are?” He listened as John told him. Rung off and moved to find them on the streets of London.


	3. The conspiracy that isn't

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What are John and Mrs. Hudson up to?

Sherlock found John and Martha in a little coffee shop not too very far from Baker Street. They could just as easily have gone downstairs to Mrs. H’s flat for tea? Sherlock smelled conspiracy here. He gave them both the evil deducing eye, but they did not give away any tiny tell or flicker an eye lash in betrayal. Something was in the air and Sherlock didn’t like it one bit. His paranoia hackles were up as he intruded upon their little conspirator’s tea.

“Sherlock, dear, how’s that old noggin of yours feeling?” 

Sherlock looked to John and then back at Mrs. Hudson. He saw genuine concern in their faces. They did care about him. Why was his mind conjuring up conspiracy and conflict when there really was no basis for it in reality?

“I still feel a little unbalanced,” he said feeling terrible about his earlier deductions. John stretched out his hand and covered Sherlock’s in its incomparable warmth. Sherlock felt instantly more at ease.

“Sherlock maybe it’s too soon for you to be out. Let me take you back home. Martha, you can carry on from here, okay?” 

“I’ll be fine, John. Just get Sherlock back home now.”

They left her there and walked back to Baker Street. The cold day was progressing on to a colder evening. Ensconced once more in the warmth and comfort of home, Sherlock divested himself of his great coat, scarf and gently placed himself supine on the couch of a thousand quandaries. John hummed about in the kitchen making him a cuppa. Sherlock took a deep breath and exhaled, determined to undermine Townsend’s grip upon the situation and therefore Mycroft’s unsavory intent.

“John, you’re not really going to be seeing Townsend again are you?”

John brought the tea over and sat on the edge of the couch and placed the tea within Sherlock’s easy reach.

“Sherlock, he’s going to be helping me set up a workout routine in the gym, in public. This is not some illicit activity in the dark. Surely you can’t find that distasteful. It isn’t a date.” John looked at Sherlock’s glum expression. “You’re afraid I’ll fancy him, is that it? Well, he is an attractive bloke and with a daughter, cute as a kitten.”

Sherlock’s eyes widened fractionally. So it begins. No, John must not go, must not leave. Must not think of blokes and kittens, must not. Stop it, Sherlock said to himself you are wallowing, stop wallowing.

John ruffled the curls of Sherlock’s hair.

“Here let me in and I’ll give you a rub and pull.” John said comfortingly. Sherlock quickly let John take his place on the couch at Sherlock’s head and he began the touching that Sherlock craved more than any drug that had ever entered his body. Sherlock forgot about everything, the world was in John’s fingers.

(-_-)

They had gone to bed early each to their own rooms. Sherlock didn’t’ need observation any more. John is woken up not too long after. Sherlock stands in his doorway. Clutching his pillow in his right hand; looking like a child unable to sleep waking the sleeping parent. 

“John, I can’t sleep can you come to bed with me? I can’t sleep without you. Tired.”

John, not blinking, pulled up and over they went to Sherlock’s larger, longer bed and they tucked in there, together. Sherlock slept quietly, his hand always on John as if even in sleep he had to know where he was.

(-_-)

Sherlock woke to find the flat empty. There was only a sticky note on John’s computer. It gave his itinerary, with guesstimated times for each errand and yes he was going to the gym with Townsend for a brief workout. Shite.

Sherlock was numb. John was his. Townsend was gay, his wife had left him when he came out; had left him with their daughter, which John found kitten cute. Did John want children? Did John want Townsend?

Sherlock languished in misery, self inflicted misery, waiting for John to come home. Finally, the door opened downstairs and the familiar steps came up to Sherlock. John looked a bit energized and at the same time spent. He smelled of Townsend. His mouth smelled of Townsend. Sherlock looked shocked.

“John you didn’t?” Sherlock was tempted to draw John into the bathroom and shove him into the shower to wash the scent away, but he only sat in numbed silence looking at John, his eyes lost.

“Well, we had an incident,” John began. 

“Incident,” Sherlock said incredulity is in his sarcastic tone.

“Roger is a war vet, head trauma, has mild epileptic seizures. He had a bad one today at the gym. I had to administer mouth to mouth to get him back to breathing. You know that Mycroft got him the job as courier. He is driven around and monitored by his drivers so he has constant observation. He’s a war hero who can’t keep a job down due to his injuries. Mycroft gave him a job, dignity and a way to support his loving daughter. He has a husband now too. So he’s the happiest man alive. Is there something going on that I don’t know about here, Sherlock?” John came close and suddenly Sherlock only wanted John to make it all better. John rumpled Sherlock’s hair and Sherlock leaned his head into John’s thigh.

“You were worried that I fancied him and we were going off together? You silly idiot. Oh and by the way he said to tell you he was sorry. Didn’t know you didn’t like to be touched or he would never have caressed your face as he did that time long ago. He’s not the enemy here, Sherlock. He’s just a guy trying to make do with what he has left after the war. Sort of like me.”

Sherlock encompassed John’s waist and drew him close.

“No one is like you, John. No one in the world is ever going to be like you. I’m sorry John. I’m sorry I ever doubted you.”

John came down on one knee so that he and Sherlock were more or less on a level that they normally occupied.

“It’s okay, love,” John said “it’s all good.” He hugged Sherlock. “I have got to take a shower. Have you eaten yet? Can I make you something before I take my shower?”

“No, I’m fine,” Sherlock said as John pulled away and traveled to his bedroom to gather up clean clothes.

John, the vanishing flat mate (really?), who had just called him love to his face. Sherlock scanned his incredible memory; had John ever used a term of endearment like that to anyone in his presence? No, he’d not used a term like this before; not even to his sister whom he loved but could not find it in his heart to feed her self-destructive addiction. This was something new then, something out of the ordinary, something that he gave only to Sherlock. Sherlock replayed the sentence over and over again in his mind, in his heart and he had to lie down again, overcome by emotions. Oh god, he hated these ‘feeling’ things, how they overwhelmed him and laid his intellect low. Yet he wasn’t going to ignore them. Not this time. 

When he’d first met John, he’d felt this playful ‘tug and pull’. You could almost say that he flirted with the soldier/stranger from the first. Winking at him; letting his hand touch John’s briefly as he had taken the proffered mobile from John’s as he texted his response on another case. Why hadn’t he paid attention to his own actions on that very first meeting? He did not flirt. Sherlock Holmes didn’t flirt and yet what was he to call it? So that is why John got mixed messages that night at Angelo’s. Flirting and then the complete shut-down. Oh, god, John. I crushed your first attempts to seduce me. Sherlock closed his eyes and wanted to throw himself head first into Mrs. Hudson’s bins. God, John, I’ve been such an idiot, such a gittish, boorish, idiot.


	4. A mouse in your pocket?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Hudson and John were actually conspiring to get Sherlock to participate in his special designation ceremony. Who knew?

Sherlock closed his eyes and then opened them. Standing he walked to the bathroom door which was ajar. He pressed the door open as John was busy taking his shower.

“John, when we first met. I flirted with you and then closed you down at Angelo’s.”

“Yeah, right, I remember. That was a bit awkward. I understand Sherlock, I know about what you like and what you are willing to give.”

“Which hasn’t been much,” Sherlock whispered to himself.

“What?” John said above the noise of the water and his own splashings.”

“I want to make it up to you, John.” 

Sherlock couldn’t see John’s smile in the shower. John felt a sad satisfaction in the consulting friend’s sudden change of stripe. Sherlock didn’t move as easily as the stars. This was something out of the ordinary. 

“It’s sort of history now, Sherlock. I don’t need you to be something other than what you are. We’ve never been anything but real to each other.”

Sherlock wanted to say he’d changed. That John was, somehow, changed too. They weren’t what they were then; they were closer, better, stronger. Like the earth and the moon, orbiting round each other, affecting each other in ways that were monumental and incremental at the same time. Sherlock heaved a noticeable sigh and thought he should get on with the begging.

John stepped out of the shower and Sherlock handed him a towel to cover the naughty bits that he coveted. Yes, parts of Sherlock genuinely wanted parts of John. No, all of John; he wanted all of John.

John’s mobile chimed and Sherlock groaned.

“Can you get that for me, Sherlock?”

“It’s Mycroft,” Sherlock said without even looking.

“Wonder what’s got his trousers in a twist?” John said taking the mobile from Sherlock.

“Hello, Mycroft. What have we done now?” John was smiling at Sherlock. “Well, thank you, Mycroft. I appreciate your conveying your respects.” John hung up.

“He wanted to thank me for saving Townsend’s life.”

“He’s just showing off.” Sherlock is still under a black cloud of jealousy.

“No, Sherlock, he sounded deeply moved and very sincere. Not his typical pompous self. I think he really cares about his people.”

“John, at Angelo’s, a life time ago, I said I was married to my work.”

“Yes, I remember it vividly, Sherlock,” John gave one of his most impressively warm and loving smiles.

Sherlock looks, really looks at that smile. The one that’s filled with love, that’s always been filled with love and he is shaken to his very core.

“You’ve know.” Sherlock hitches his breath sharply. “You’ve loved me from the very start. You killed the killer cabbie, because anything less would have left me in mortal danger. Why haven’t you come forward, why haven’t you told me what an idiot I am, John?”

“I told you, you were an idiot that night, Sherlock. And, yes, I’ve loved you from that first night, from those first moments, from that first wink at Bart’s. How many people do you initiate touch with, ever? How many people do you wink at Sherlock? Name them all to me.”

“No one, John, no one but you,” Sherlock said feeling so wrong footed that John has to sit him down on the couch.

“I knew you’d get there,” John said repeating words that Sherlock had spoken to him at the rail road tracks in the Bruce-Partington Affair.

“Why, John? Why haven’t I noticed, why didn’t I see? Me the most observant man in the universe, not see the eyes of love in you?”

“Maybe you weren’t ready to see, Sherlock, and I. I’ve always been a patient man. A man who knows what he wants and won’t settle for less. I thought the dating might work you up a bit. I liked those women and don’t get me wrong if they had offered me a good shag, I would have taken it. I think they felt that my heart wasn’t there. My heart was always elsewhere, with you and your massive brain that couldn’t figure me out. Me standing right there in front of you all the time, my genius/idiot; my love that couldn’t or wouldn’t see me for what I really am…soldier/doctor/lover.”

“I think when we started the ‘rub and pull’ that was a good thing, I am addicted to it, to you John. When you walk out into the world, I start to go through withdrawals something fierce. You are far worse than any drug I’ve ever subjected myself to. I couldn’t live without you.”

John smiled; the look of love shown from midnight blue eyes, the look that had been there from day one. That Sherlock had thought so endearing, so wonderful. The things he’d done to get John to give him that look. Oh, god, Sherlock thinks, I’ve loved him all along too.

“John shall I get the Browning, would you like to shoot me now?” Sherlock felt miserable beyond his words to convey. 

John went over to the corner and picked up the Stad and its accompanying bow. Reverently he handed the wonderful instrument to Sherlock. 

“Play for me,” John said knowing that Sherlock would play a medley of John’s favorites; the ones that he had come to love as much as he loved Sherlock.

Sherlock began to play, but with an intensity, with a love now that made the strings sing in strength and sorrow, beauty and feeling.

No one could play like that without having a very precious soul, John thinks. No one could be so filled with life, love and not play like that. Sherlock didn’t play the staccato strings and odd harmonics that he did when Mycroft was around. For John, it was tender melodies, the sweet call of desire, the soaring strength of strings that could not be bound by the confines of a human soul. They all spoke of Sherlock’s very human heart. The one he professed to not own. The one that was on display each time he picked up the instrument that he held so lovingly now.

When Sherlock was finished and put the instrument away in its place, John was there, his strong arms embracing Sherlock. Sherlock nearly cried out with joy. John’s touch was now a constant need. John’s happiness was all that mattered in the world. Sherlock found his heart and his desire open at the same time and it was life altering. He is changed. He is made new, John’s smile tore him apart and rebuilt him, a better man, a great man, a good man. 

(-_-)

“John, I don’t think we can do this.” Sherlock moaned. 

“Do you have a mouse in your pocket, because YOU are going to be doing this and you are going to do this, if not for me then for…well you are going to do this for me.” John gave Sherlock the evil eye and Sherlock knew that he was doomed. Doomed and damned and he was so going to live to regret each and every second of this damnable day.

“John, please.” Sherlock froze and looked at John with a look of utter and unbelievable apprehension.

“Okay, man-up. Put on that arrogant, pernicious, better-than-god game face on and let’s get on with this shall we.”

Mrs. Hudson came in to the waiting room and placed a boutonniére in both their lapels. 

“My boys are looking so grand in their formal attire. I told you, John, that we could talk him into it. I’m so proud of you both.”

She looked at Sherlock who was feeling completely paralyzed with the oncoming dread.

“Tell him you will shag him silly when this is over,” Mrs. Hudson said to John in a voice that Sherlock could over hear. 

John and Sherlock were so over come with laughter as she left that they almost lost the buffet breakfast that they had eaten early that morning.

Mycroft entered the room and shook John’s hand.

“Thanks for bringing the man-of-the-hour out from under his rock,” Mycroft was in high spirits. It wasn’t every day that his youngest brother was knighted by the Queen.

“Oh, and don’t put your formals away,” John said. “In a month or two a happy announcement will be in play.” John looked happily at Sherlock. Sherlock just beamed with pride. That formal occasion was going to be the very best day of his life. 

“Congratulations are in order, dear brother. I knew you’d get there eventually.”

“Did every-fucking-one know about this but me?” Sherlock is deeply put out.


	5. You'd like my holes if I were Swiss cheese.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah the wedding has happened, but don't worry. Well get a glimpse of it later.

Sherlock lay in their bed. John was doing the rub and pull and boy did he need it this evening. The wedding had been a grand affair with only several minor mishaps. Oh god, he is so glad it is over. He is so glad that he and John are alone now. Everyone had been warned off, no ‘Work’, no big brother, no intrusions whatsoever. Mrs. Hudson was guarding the front door with her life and she has one hell of a heavy cast iron frying pan if anyone is interested trying to be by her.

“I’m going to stop now, Sherlock.” 

“You okay, John?” 

“Just a bit tired and my refractory time is still trying to catch up with you.”

“I’m sorry to be such a drain on you, John.” Sherlock says with what he thinks will be the right amount of sympathy.

“You are totally not,” John replied. “You are SO not unhappy with my sex that I don’t even want to hear you attempt to fake me out,” he said in a laughing tone. 

“I love your sex, John. I’ve dabbled in the physicality of sex before, but I’ve never wanted anyone that way I want you.”

“I know,” John said as he came down into the bed to spoon around Sherlock. “You were worth the wait, Sherlock.” There was such contentment in those words.

“I’m so sorry that you had to wait, John. If I had a time machine…”

“Don’t say that, if you had a time machine, we’d be chasing after criminals from the past and into the future. There would never be any down time. Don’t even go there.” John kissed the nape of Sherlock’s neck. That long, ivory neck that drove him insane with its beauty and its easy access to the man he loved.

Sherlock trembled as John continued his gentle nips, licks and kisses that rained down on his neck as John’s arms squeezed him in a tight embrace. 

“I thought you said you were dried up, desiccated?” Sherlock said slightly amused.

“Just because I can’t get myself up, that doesn’t mean I can’t get you off, you nymphomaniac. I’ve birthed a nymphomaniac. Sherlock Holmes is a raging nymphomaniac,” John yelled at the wall. The wall just stood there and took it. 

“John, you’ve become so demonstrative, I quite like it and, of course, you.” 

“You’d like my holes if I were Swiss cheese,” John commented. 

“I’m sure I would,” Sherlock did not attempt to keep his laughter from showing.

“Well, Sherlock Holmes I’m going to be conducting a series of experiments this evening to see just how frequently a man five years my junior can orgasm in a two hour period.”

“Make it four hours,” Sherlock pleaded.

“Slattern,” John commented.

“Oh, talk dirty to me,” Sherlock retorted. Thinking about all the things that John is going to do to him.

(-_-)

“Enough!” Sherlock broke John’s hold on him and rolled over on top of John pinning him to the bed.

“What, it hasn’t been four hours, Sherlock.” John was smiling like a Cheshire cat.

“I concede, I surrender, I am out matched and over thrown. I love you,” he said planting a kiss on John’s rosy cheek. 

“Just remember that I am a strong and jealous sex god and you will be shagged to within an inch of your delicious cock if you even look at anyone but me,” John said in the spirit of fun and with love in his heart.

“Never.” Sherlock promised. He knew that John’s words were more frivolity than threat. He is, as ever, a pussy-cat at heart, a feral pussy-cat with nine inch nails. 

“I’m hungry, John.” 

“Takeout, one should never cook on one’s wedding day. Bad karma,” John replied.

“Angelo’s.” They said in unison.

Angelo delivered personally to the flat, an inordinate amount of wonderful food along with his celebratory wine that just made everything go down smoothly.

Shagged, fed and slightly inebriated the newly joined couple could do no more than lie in each other’s embrace and look on as the evening lights come on in the Western windows of the flat.

“How long do you think we can make this last,” John questioned in the shadowed room?

Sherlock gave a theatrical snore. 

“Oi, I’m talking to my husband and I’m asking a question of great importance,” John said with an air of sincerity.

“Then you need to clarify your question, John. Did you mean the harmony of this night, the love of this union, or the lack of the ‘work’ or some other posit that I did not infer? 

“Everything,” John said thoughtfully.

Sherlock snuggled into the comfort of the strong doctors embrace before he continued.

“This harmony shall always find us, the love of this union will never fade and the ‘work’ will always be waiting for us, in the very next moment that we seek it out.” Sherlock said.

“Excellent, I couldn’t have said that better myself,” John gathered Sherlock closer and placed a kiss on his brow. 

Sherlock’s mobile chimed. The chime indicated the call was from Molly. Molly was not under any compunction not to call. In point-of-fact she was told to text Sherlock if anything out of the ordinary were to turn up. John reached for the phone and Sherlock, in great anticipation, pulled it from his grasp and kissed John’s hand. 

John felt such satisfaction. He finally had what he had desired from the first. Finally felt that nothing could bring him more happiness than these last few months. Sir Sherlock Templeton Holmes is ever to be at his side. He is going to find the rest of his life a complete and utter chaotic mad dash across the streets of London. Racing through the heart of the greatest city he had ever loved as much as he loved Sherlock. He could hardly wait.

“John, get dressed. Molly has a huge case waiting for us. Three bodies pulled from the Thames, all females, all with unusual marks on their upper extremities. How fast can you get it together, John?”

“As fast as you, well maybe faster, I don’t have to scan myself in the mirror and I can do it in the dark,” John said with a pride of the soldier/doctor/lover that he was.

“Well, let’s get cracking then this mystery needs solving.” Sherlock got up to start to look for proper clothing, but John was way ahead of him. Turning on the lights, Sherlock saw that appropriate clothing was already pulled and ready for them. Waiting for his thank you kiss, John got it as Sherlock pulled on his favor items and John dressed in at least half the time. 

He pulled up his mobile and hit the app that would have the nearest cab coming in a matter of minutes. Outside the cold night air was filled with a relentless fall of snow. It is the beginning of the morning, the first of winter snows and the very best of times for John and Sherlock. They were off. 

John pulled his warm winter cap over his head. Checked to see if he had what he needed in his black Italian leather doctors shoulder bag (gifted by his new brother-in-law) and joined Sherlock at the front door. They were off and his heart beat in happiness and the excitement of the ‘work’ and the love of a genius/idiot at his side. What more could any man ask for? Well, not John Hamish Watson, he was a truly happy man. 

Sherlock turned to him, his eyes wide with enthusiasm and the sparkle of the over grown child getting ready to sink his hooks into a mystery. Leaning towards John, he placed a chaste kiss on his cool cheek and he smiled a genuine Sherlock smile that came from the confines of his ever-expanding heart.

“Love you,” he said.

And John didn’t have to say the words. He just smiled, knowing that Sherlock could read it all there now. 

“Yes, Love,” John replied. Just to make sure the consulting husband, lover, detective got it right.


	6. The Rings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was engraved on the rings? Now we know.

When had it all come together? Sherlock smiled as he remembered how he’d realized that John had loved him from that first touch, from that first wink. John had always loved Sherlock, had always given his love through his smile, his thin lips pursing and puckering in microexpressions at Sherlock, silent kisses. God he’d been such an idiot not to realize that John loved him. So what do idiots do when they find out that they have loved their flat mate all along too? Why one proposes, of course!

(-_-)

It had been a brutal night of icy rains, snow and winds that could freeze the arses off the Lions at Trafalgar Square. London was a Lady in Winter White, a proud lady with empty streets and murder splashed in frozen blood splatters of arterial gore across her backside. She was glorious. Not the corpse at their feet, but the London that Sherlock and John loved so very well. Within the confines of the murder scene and in the allotted 1.678 minutes Sherlock had deduced the killer of the young lady and given five likely places to find the murderous wretch who had done the foul deed. D.I. Dimmock had taken down all the pertinent information and was calling in his forensics team to collect evidence.

Sherlock looked at John; he was shivering even in his heavy winter coat, hat and thermal gloves.

“We are done here, Detective Inspector, if you need any more reassurances as to my findings please text me. Come John, we are going home.

Sherlock pulled his mobile out and used that useful app to summon a cab to their location. In the warmth of the cab John started to thaw, still Sherlock reached his long arm around his soldier/doctor/lover and pulled him close. 

“That was pretty remark…”

“Yes, John, now be quiet, conserve energy and think warm thoughts,” Sherlock said the corners of his beautiful mouth tipping upwards in good humor.

(-_-)

As they strode up the narrow stairs to home and burst through the door, John shed his outer clothing hanging them to dry and headed for their bedroom. “I’m going to take a hot shower Sherlock, you can come with or not,” John said over his shoulder and smiled at Sherlock, that beautiful ‘I love you more than life itself’ smile that always caught at Sherlock’s heart.

Sherlock de-coated and went to the kitchen to boil water, tea would warm them up.

He needed to propose to John. John and he were joined at the hip anyway, so a legal partnership would not change their physical status. Why do it then? Because he wanted everyone to know and respect their decision, but more than that, he wanted to declare his possession of John’s touch. Yes, it was a selfish act on his part, but he was Sherlock Holmes and he could have ulterior motives if he wanted to. Putting rings on would make their commitment a physical thing, warning away those potential predatory attempts on John’s availability, John’s touch. This was purportedly a simple task, one that his genius intellect should be able to handle with great aplomb. It just kept slipping through his brain cells, how to make it memorable without being too smarmy. 

He’d purchased the rings. John’s was very special. The platinum base was encrusted with ten tiny diamonds which ran around the band, not in a straight line, but up and down as if one followed the other in a continuous and endless run, then another layer of platinum to cover over the diamonds. The jeweler thought him mad at first to hide the delirium of diamonds below the precious metal. Then Sherlock took out his mobile and showed his lover to the jeweler. 

“Ah, I see.” He said knowingly. 

John would have his diamonds, as every husband should, but they would be hidden away from normal sight. Known only to John and Sherlock, he’d already taken photos of the ‘diamond ring’ and had an album started. 

Inside John’s ring, engraved on the small and delicate looking band, it said ‘touch me evermore, touch me evermore’ the words ran round and round on the inside of the band. A request, a desire, a demand that captured Sherlock more than anything else in his life ever had; for John is more potent than any drug that he’d experimented with. With John there is never any withdrawal as his lingering love was ever present; so easily and often given, so sought after and cherished with a hunger that demanded always more please, John! 

He had no idea what John would write in his ring. Knowing only that John would make it memorable. 

Damn, damn, and damn again. What to do? How to propose? Everything that Sherlock concocted is that, a synthetic scene, a mockery of their love. It had to be vital, a moment in time that could be suspended in eternity; a memory that branded the cells of their physical hearts, that spoke of their eternal love. God, this was so aggravating, so insane. He needed data.

Sherlock knocked on Mrs. Hudson’s door. 

“Sherlock, dear,” she always made his name sound like a question and an answer at the same time.

She was the best and only mother that Sherlock cared about.

“Come in dear, how about a nice cuppa?” 

“Yes, please and thank you.” Sherlock gave her a genuine smile, so comfortable in this second of his homes. He sat in her living room, surrounded by the long decades of his surrogate mothers life. A dancer in her youth, her strong body showing that she still carried that graceful manner, still held the vital, vivaciousness of those early years. 

Martha brought in tea and his favorite biscuits which she just happened to have each time he came round. She served and then sat in an overstuffed chair opposite him. Sherlock nibbled his biscuit sipping his hot tea. Martha was the perfect mum and a positively consummate host. 

“What’s this about, Sherlock? You hardly ever come to me for answers, my brilliant boy.”

She is so good, so very good. He placed his tea down and produced the tiny box that held two rings, rings that needed no explanation, no definition as to their purpose.

“They are beautiful; Sherlock, but shouldn’t you be giving that to John?”

“Martha, I don’t know when to do this, the place, how to make it special. I’m unable to think clearly in this matter and thought that you could lend some of your sagacious advice?”

“Child,” she said, for John and Sherlock were her only children now. “Both of you are so very special and nothing before will be suited to your purposes. You will need to find that place in your heart that mirrors your specialness. You’ve found John that is the difficult part. His heart is already yours, so finding the moment in time to take his hand, that should be so much easier.

(-_-) 

They were coming down from the stairs of the observation deck of the Shard of Glass, Sherlock leading as he almost always did, John following, they were breathless from the chase and happy at the capture of yet another criminal. Sherlock turned looking up at John and through the glass tower he saw London at John’s feet. Her great beauty and her ragged shirts showing, she was magnificent in her depth and scope. Alight with life in grand designs; historic and futuristic intertwined, John stood on the step above him, framed in the starlight, the moonlight reflecting on his face, making his close cropped fawn colored hair like a halo round his head. London at his feet; the wash of universes at his head, John was enchanting; the solider/doctor/lover; full of strength, beauty and uncommon valor. Breath-taking!

“Oh. God. Yes.” Sherlock breathed.

“Right. What? Sherl…” John stopped as Sherlock removed his glove in the frigid cold, reaching into his deep pocket to pluck a tiny box from the interior. He removed one of the two rings and taking John’s glove off he placed the diamond ring on John’s ring finger.

“John Watson, you will do me the honor of becoming my husband,” it wasn’t a question, but a statement of fact. The consulting lover would broach no denial of John’s position in his life. 

John’s eyes flooded in joy and something like amazement. “You idiot,” he said laughing and looking hard at the ring that encircled his finger. Then embracing his genius/idiot husband he screamed to the night wind, he tore open his joy and it reverberated through the fabric of the world and somewhere the tides turned to rush back to John and his Sherlock. The stars circled above, blessing the union of two souls that could never be parted.

“Home,” Sherlock whispered as he put John’s glove back on. 

“Soonest,” John shouted to the world. “This deserves a shag of a life time.”

“I can hardly wait.” Sherlock took his husbands hand and pulled him along as they made their way back to earth.

(-_-)

It was the shag of a life time, one of many in a life time of shags. What did John have engraved on Sherlock’s ring? He is hard pressed to think of something. Property of J.H. Watson? Mine, mine, mine? Sherlock Holmes Watson? My idiot/genius? He could think of so many things loving, funny and inappropriate. He settled on inappropriate as that is what Sherlock was. He was not normal, never would be, would always be that insane, mad, clever and intelligent git who made John’s life much too exciting. Sherlock was the mirror that showed John his true worth, brought everything into perspective. They were both greater now than each one apart. Sherlock is his consulting detective/friend/lover and now husband.

“A tart for John’s touch,” was etched in Sherlock’s ring. No one would ever see it but Sherlock and John, but it would be a reminder of the reality between them. The beloved, born again in the touch of his lover, the lover given new live by the beloved. Each to each, always.


	7. Living with a genious/idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Holidays, sexual experimentation and life after wedding.

It’s not all fun and games really, though John concedes that he does have a strong wild card at his disposal, his touch. John’s touch is something that Sherlock will jump through smaller and ever smaller hoops for. John, not manipulative, well, alright he did manipulate just a tad, but it was all for Sherlock’s benefit; he was eleven stone of muscle now. They did hand-to-hand fight training, together. They were both stronger, healthier and it was a good thing.

That genius/idiot of his ate now. Small highly nutrient concentrated meals or protein/fruit/veggie shakes; more than enough to keep that stunning body nourished and at peak performance. He slept too. Not as much as ‘normal’ people but after being shagged to death, he did surrender to the tiny death that sleep was. He surrendered to John on a regular basis, even demanded it from John on occasion and he was happy to comply. John had become Sherlock’s drug of choice and John smiled at that. They’d never been so alive, as vital as they were now. Though John could not reach Sherlock’s level of deduction; he was getting better, much better than he had been. It was spooky good too that he could read Sherlock’s needs and fulfill them within a moment’s notice; that was new. Sherlock would need an evidence bag, or a glass vial or whatever and John would hand it to him before he needed to ask. That brought a sly smile to Sherlock’s lips. 

Ah, those lips that drove John insane with their beauty, they dexterity, their ability to reduce him to quivering mass of sensate nerve endings that were mindless and numbed out with bliss. Sometimes John felt like he was fifteen again. Desire drove him and if it drove him, it turned Sherlock to a high speed bullet train. God, he was unquenchable, debauchery in every subtle line of his body. Alone, those eyes of Sherlock’s would devour him at any given moment and sex would happen everywhere. The door was always locked now as poor Mrs. Hudson had more than once tipped into the flat when they were going at it tooth and claw. 

“She’s seen it all before, John.” Sherlock had commented and John believed him. She had always smiled beatifically and backed out of the flat slowly, she could have just as easily turned and left, but she backed out slowly as if enjoying the vision of her ‘boys’’ having a bit of wild, rapacious sex was okay by her. 

And let’s be real here, sex with his husband is like, well it is every adjective, invective, hot and nasty, winsome and loving thing that could be imagined. So there! It could be anything and everything. But mostly it was horizontal and vertical. Always, always soul satisfying and life affirming; god, it couldn’t get any better, but it did. Each and every time it is better and better till John is sure that he’d succumb to its ecstatic embrace and he would die of Sherlock’s lust and love. Still he lived and smiled quite a bit. Smiled like that damned Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland, now he knew why that fucking cat smiled, knew exactly why. Damn!

(-_-)

Now that John had set up a program to classify cases as per Sherlock’s system, well they were doing rather well. Small clients were helped on a sliding scale and the high end corporate clients had to pay through the nose or any other orifice that sufficed. John set up the smaller cases just after breakfast and Sherlock would indulge in the more challenging cases before lunch. It was all working out so wonderfully. A joint account was set up, so that John could pay bills and keep track of their financials. It was all good. John was happy, Sherlock was happy and there was still plenty of time to devote to the Yarders at the Met. It was all good.

The cases did get bizarre in the month of October. Not that there weren’t a shite load of strange cases to begin with. Strange seemed to follow Sherlock around like John did; always at his heels. The case of the Cumberland cat is an-out-in-left-field affair. John is still trying to decide how much information he wanted to blog about when Sherlock came in from his shower draped only in his sheet.

“John. I feel the need to have a bit of a holiday. Where would you like to go?”

“What were you thinking somewhere up the coast?” John was taken aback; Sherlock is so all about the ‘Work’. Sherlock never holidayed.

“My family has estates and homes on seven continents, John. We even have places in the States. Now come to bed, I’ve just changed the sheets.”

“Sherlock your family has estates everywhere? When were you going to tell me about that? And I just finished getting dressed, Sherlock. It’s the middle of the day.”

“I did tell you about the estates, John, just now. And we had to cut our morning shag short for the quick trip to the morgue. I didn’t finish my sexual experimentation and you did seem to be enjoying it so I thought we’d resume, but if you’re not interested…”

John started disrobing and was completely nude by the time he reached the bed. 

“Now where did we leave off,” Sherlock abandoned his sheet in the door way and pounced on John as he was getting comfortable. 

“You know you are my favorite friend/lover/idiot, Sherlock.” John said as Sherlock captured him in the throes of his latest sexual experimentation.

“You will pay for your obvious lack of respect for you dear husband,” Sherlock said letting a faux frown set on his features as he pushed his advantage. John was expecting the end of the experiment and Sherlock, just to be crafty, was starting at the very beginning again.

(-_-)

John was bathed in sweat and other bodily fluids. He needed a shower and a cuppa but not necessarily in that order. 

“Sherlock that was…” John couldn’t find the adjectives to compliment his lover.

Sherlock laid his back on the floor, his thighs up against the side of the bed, knees bent, his long legs on the bed. John was on the bed between Sherlock’s legs looking down at the nudity that was his beloved husband and lover extraordinaire.

“I’d like to get some photos of you in this position, can you hand me my mobile?” John did not appear to be kidding. 

Sherlock huffed and handed him his mobile. 

“If this shows up on your blog, I will sue you for breach of our prenuptial.” Sherlock said with an air of Mycroftish distain.

“Sherlock, we have no pre-nup, and besides you won’t know inappropriate if it bit you in the arse. So there.”


	8. Honor the Bullet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Honor the bullet that brought you here.

Sherlock woke finding John sprawled on top of him. John had been exhausted. It was one of their more involved, exhausting cases, a long night and an extensive shag before they had actually found time to sleep. Sherlock took a deep breath, exhaling and moved ever so slightly, seeing if he could extricate himself from his lover. John mumbled and let himself be moved, but still his hands held tight to Sherlock.

“Loo, John, be right back,” Sherlock whispered into ears that probably couldn’t hear him.

With great difficulty he brought himself out of the bed. Making sure the blankets and covers were snug around John before he made his hasty trip to the loo to empty a bladder filled with tea from yesterday. So important now to care for John, when all those years before he could find no care or concern in him for anyone. Slipping back into the bed, his side still retained a bit of his warmth. Gently, with all the tenderness he could bring, he curled around John’s sleeping form, his long, lean body easily engulfing the smaller man.

No he couldn’t call John a smaller man. Not ever. For what he lacked in size, he made up for in courage and a devoted heart that was larger by far than any he had known; from the first Sherlock had seen John but had not acknowledged him. John and he were both individuals who were very complex but totally real. John, soft, tender hearted, nurturing on the surface, steel strong, deadly and steadfast underneath. Sherlock hard arse, gruff and heartless on the surface, but below this mindless idiot who melted at his lovers touch; mirrors to one another. In his sleep, John pulled Sherlock’s arms more closely about him. As if Sherlock could ever be close enough.

From the beginning John had never been anything but real to Sherlock, never hidden who he was. People always tried to pull their masks on, to perpetrate their fraudulent lives for the sake of societal mores. Not John. He was a soldier and a doctor. A healer and a killer and he didn’t pretend otherwise. John is always joyous in his work and found playfulness in the world around him. He’d even seen through the hardened ‘sociopath’ label that Sherlock had put on like a mantel to protect his cynical heart, a heart too long abraded by the rough and tumble world, a dark and sinister world without redemption, until John.

That was a trait that Sherlock didn’t think he’d ever find endearing. John cared about things and people. John suffered fools, at least for a brief time. While Sherlock suffered no fools and everyone was a fool in his estimation. 

Sherlock snuggled into curve of John’s neck. His fingers tracing the webbed scar tissue of his left shoulder, he honored the bullet that had ripped John’s shoulder. Honored it and wished that he could carry it into his mind palace and place it in the reliquary that existed there; the reliquary that was dedicated to John. That wound had brought him home and no matter the pain that it had brought him, the mental despair or the self-doubt that it had forced upon John; it had brought him to Sherlock’s side. Everything culminated in John coming into his life, claiming him, letting Sherlock grow into something that he’d never thought he’d never be, a good man.

Loving John was intense, but also fun. Who knew that John could be so playful; so honest and true? That first night he’d called Sherlock an idiot. NO one had ever dared to question Sherlock’s mental capacities before. Everyone knew he is the genius in the room, but John saw right through him, saw that soft core that longed for something it had never experienced before; true love.

Honor the bullet that brought John to his side. Honor the mutual friend that introduced them. Honor the love that bonds them to each other. Sherlock had so much to be thankful for. He lovingly traced the scaring on John’s shoulder; wished that the pain and suffering that it has caused could be obliterated, but Sherlock knew inside that you had to pass through the fire to emerge the forged steel on the other side. If not for this wound John would still be at war, far from Sherlock’s reach; a stranger that he’d never meet.

I am many times blessed by your touch John, Sherlock thinks. For that had been a turning point between them, John’s touch as healer; the touch that lingered just a fraction of a minute longer than was necessary. John’s smile that whispered kisses in the dark and playful love-making in the day light. Sherlock would come to long for that love and find it not just necessary but essential for his continued life. They could never to be parted and anyone who tried would have a hell of a screaming banshee, bastard of a Sherlock Holmes coming after him; that was for god-damned sure. 

John reached back his left hand to caress Sherlock’s thigh; dancing fingers over skin of the beloved, sending tremors through Sherlock. Then that hand came up to caress Sherlock’s stubbly jaw, run fingers through his wild curly locks that tumbled about his face. Sherlock nestled into that touch as a tactilely starved kitten would push in for the touch of love. 

“Morning, is it morning?” John asked without bothering to open his eyes.

“Happy New Year,” Sherlock whispered into that diminutive shell of an ear.

“Oh, god have we lost another year,” John turns to face Sherlock an incredulous look upon his face. “I’ve not got my full use out of the last one and I have to put it away already. Come here you.” John pulled Sherlock down into a New Years day kiss, one of many to follow.

“Did I give you permission to leave the bed earlier,” John questioned in his soldier mode?

“No. No sir,” Sherlock answered tenderly in his best recruit voice as parts of him stood at attention.

“Well, I want you to stay right here and keep that thought in mind. I’ve got to see a man about a horse.” John exited the bed, turned on the flat heater, made it to the loo and back again in record time.

“How is the man and his horse,” Sherlock asked a smile beginning on his face.

“The man and his horse are present and accounted for.” John said taking matters into his own hands, as he began the slow and steady conquering of Sherlock’s proud lips, caressing and sliding his touch across Sherlock’s face. Sherlock purred with happiness. John’s touch is filled with his unconditional love.

“Captain of my heart,” Sherlock began and then started to laugh as John assaulted the only ticklish spot on his whole entire body.

“Getting romantic, are we?” John took total command of the situation and turned Sherlock inside out with his sensual mouth. There were long moments of silence. John had such skill as a lover that he invariable brought Sherlock to this mindless state where that massive intellect is brought to nothing. Sherlock quit thinking and that was a gift and a release in its self. 

Sherlock lost the ability to form cohesive speech. “John,” was the only word left in the world and he said it over and over again, with all the love he could impart. 

Who knew that Sherlock would be a screamer?


	9. The Wedding - Oh Happy Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The perfect wedding, the wedding vows.

Sherlock lay abed. Shagged and sleeping, he was such a beauty John thought, a keeper for sure. How had he got so lucky? He guessed that all the fucked luck is finally being rewarded with the total grace of love and a lover that could only be classified as a gift. He covered Sherlock securely with the duvet and had to smile, shagging did make one sleep more soundly, even if you were Sherlock ‘smartarse’ Holmes.

John moved into the kitchen pulling his terry robe tight around him. The heat had come on, but it was still a bit cold in the flat. John put together some hot tea and a few biscuits. He would wait for ‘sleepy head’ to wake before he started a full on breakfast for himself. John pulled some of Sherlock’s healthy concoction out of the refrigerator, poured a glass to warm for Sherlock when he woke. He was training the idiot to take better care of himself. It was a change that John was happy about.

Taking his tea and biscuits to the bedroom, he put them down on the bedside stand and resumed his place in bed next to Sherlock pulling the covers around them both. He plucked up his Wi-Fi enabled mobile. Opening it up to You Tube, he never tired of looking at the most prodigious and momentous day of his entire life. The civil union had been a quick, legal whirl that had been kept mostly secret. The actual exchange of bands was a more impressive and unbelievable affair that had lasted for days and encompassed the entire world. It was almost an international holiday for crikey’s sake. Sherlock’s Serpent’s Tooth network had unanimously decided to record and transmit the entire affair streaming worldwide, real time. No pressure. So John could revisit that day on You Tube any damn time he wanted too. It was hours and hours of wedding, the bands exchange, the vows and the homophobic attempted double murder; yeah it was all right there in living color.

(-_-)

Lestrade was always going to be Sherlock’s best man. Mycroft was never even in the running. Stamford was going to be John’s man (after all he had introduced them to each other), but Mike had promised his long suffering wife a vacation for many years and couldn’t get out of his commitment to her. John choose instead to go with Mrs. Hudson, his surrogate mother would be much better than his alcoholic sister, who was invited, but not allowed near anything with alcohol in it.

Immediately people wanted to send gifts, registry?? “Oh my god, Sherlock we really don’t need anything. I’ve got everything I want in you.” 

“Serpent’s Tooth’s, Cindy came up with a brilliant idea. A PayPal account was set up and instead of gifting the couple everyone is respectfully asked to donate to any of several reputable agencies, Helping the Homeless, Children in Need, Doctors without Borders and Royal Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. It was a great idea, John and Sherlock were happy when the tally came up to a quarter of a million pounds it was incredibly fabulous for the charities and great PR for Sherlock and John.

“If only the whole affair were that simple,” John had commented. John relied on Serpent’s Tooth entirely for assistance on the wedding, as Sherlock was down with a cold and bearly able to fumble to the loo on his own. Thank god for relatives with money and political pull and the super-uber hackers of Serpent’s Tooth who could make anything happen at any time. 

Even Sherlock was blown away by how gargantuan everything was becoming. The Holmes estate is pressed into service for the event. Mycroft’s people and Serpent’s Tooth took over security. The guest list was huge; everyone wanted to attend and those who couldn’t get an invite were planning on crashing the gate. It was touted as THE wedding of the Century; Boffin Sherlock Templeton Holmes to wed blogger extraordinaire and world famous PA to Holmes, Doctor John Hamish Watson.

“Jeeze, Sherlock are we ready for this?”

“Even if we aren’t ready,” Sherlock stood close and embraced John from behind; his lover, his life. “We have to make that leap, John.” 

“I’m not feeling the amphibian,” John is always going for the funny.

(-_-)

Sherlock was dressed in a white tailored tuxedo; he looked good enough to eat John thinks. John is in a dove gray bespoke tux that Sherlock purchased for him. He is also delectable and Sherlock had practiced taking that suit off him multiple times, apparently, John in his tuxedo is like waving the let’s-have-sex flag. The tux is definitely going to stay in his closet and not in storage

Everything seemed perfect or at least some semblance thereof. The main bower was outdoors, but it being late autumn the entire area was tented incase the weather didn’t want to cooperate. The bower was encased in glass which must have cost someone a quid or two. The bower was at the center of a 360 venue; there was not a bad seat in the place. Security was high as there had been threatening letters and emails concerning the ‘gay’ issue. Every precaution was being taken and it wasn’t an option not to be prepared for any contingency. A fairly large band and choir were in attendance for music and entertainment. It was an event to remember. Digital cameras were rolling, security was securing and the bat-shite crazy sniper was preparing to snipe.

The choir (all hundred singers) began singing A Capella Peter Gabriel’s Book of Love, mid way through the band joined in as the Sherlock came from East and John from the West; they walked toward the bower with Lestrade and Mrs. Hudson. They stood before each other at the center of the dais. They were already legal joined so no one else was needed in this portion of their joining.

John began his voice clear and steady, strong and true.

“I, John Watson, take you Sherlock Holmes as my husband; in the heat of the chase, in the thrill of the capture and in all the moments in between. During the heights of conquest (Sherlock knew exactly what John meant, sexy bastard) and the infrequent bouts of ennui (that got a laugh from many who knew Sherlock), I pledge my heart, offer my soul and enter into this union allowing none to break it; you are my life, my lover.

Automatic gun fire sounded out its own deathly chorus and the many glass panels surrounding the bower showed the spider webbed cracks where the bullets were lodged.

There was a moment of panic; screams, yelling and in the distance a scuffle broke out but was quickly quelled. Then another moment of silence and the huge glass panels lowered to reveal the couple, the best man and best woman untouched, the bullet proof glass having shielded them from bat-shite-crazy harm.

In a rich baritone Sherlock spoke, “I, Sherlock Holmes, take you John Watson as my husband, in the time that is given me, with all the love that I can bring to bear and withhold nothing of myself. I pledge my heart, offer my soul and enter into this union allowing none to break it; you are my life, my lover. The rings were exchanged.

No one would have thought that Sherlock would make such overarching statement of devotion. Mrs. Hudson wept silently as did Harry, Molly and most of the woman in attendance. 

John and Sherlock were in constant contact with the agents on site, on the ground and in the air. Their ear pieces keeping them informed on what was transpiring. It made for a hectic speaking of their vows.

John turned around his arm encompassing everyone in the audience. He spoke with confidence into his lapel mic so he could be heard easily by all.

“Honored guests, dignitaries, my family and friends and anyone who can bloody hear me, please forgive the brief disruption of this happy occasion. Please help us celebrate our joyous union, if you will excuse me I’m going to snog my husband for a while now,” John said as he then pulled Sherlock down into a kiss that would have made the ‘Princess Bride’ blush. 

There was cheering, clapping and general mayhem (of the good kind) and the choir and band began a long melody of music both classical and contemporary. 

“And what have we got,” John turned his lapel mic off so that he was only being heard on his tie clasp mic.” 

“Wendell and Burke here, John, we have the sniper in custody and are escorting him to one of our waiting vans.”

“No sign of anyone else?” Sherlock is just recovering from John’s hellacious kiss. “And how did he get a gun in past the metal detectors?”

“The only ceramic automatic I’ve ever seen,” Wendell said. We are sure that this was a solitary shooter, Mister Holmes.” (Mycroft’s people didn’t dare use Sherlock’s first name) “He was ‘persuaded’ to relinquish all information about this attempted assassination.”

Sherlock knew that Mycroft’s agents were quite good at persuading when they wanted to be.

(-_-)

Who the hell knew that Sherlock could dance? John thought that dancing would be one of the first things that he’d deleted from his massive brain. But damn, he could move in ways that had John wanting to drag him off the dance floor and into the nearest bedroom, but everyone and his dog was out to dance with both of them at least once and that was a lot of people. There was an endless supply, endless. 

Finally, Sherlock told everyone that he was still suffering from the effects of that damn cold and asked John to accompany him to the main house. A covered electric cart picked them up and delivered them to a black Jaguar that whisked them off.

“Are you okay, Sherlock,” John was concerned?

“If you want to spend the rest of your life entertaining the ten thousand people now at the estate, I can return you to your fate, John.” Sherlock said with a bit of a smirk on his beautiful face.

“No. No. Where are we going, back to the flat?”

“First, I’m afraid you have to sign this.” Sherlock brought his mobile out and tapped it to a document and produced a small plastic pointer pen from the exterior of the mobile.

“And this is,” John was leery of all the tiny print that was swimming by his eyes. 

“Your security clearance has now been changed to level 13, the same as Mycroft and me.” Sherlock looked at him there was no guile in his smile.

“You’re for real?” John took the proffered pen and slowed the text down to read a bit of it. “Jezzzeus, Sherlock, since when are you privy to affairs of state and the Royal family?” 

“Since before we met, John and now so are you. Comes with the Holmes’ name, something I try like hell not to get too tangled up in, but on occasion…you’re okay with it aren’t you?”

“I guess there is no turning back now.” John signed his name.

“And here sign this too.” Sherlock opened another document.

“I’m not signing myself into slavery here, am I?” 

“No, John this makes you the executor of my estate and you are now personally in charge of my total value and wealth. Prior to my brush with illegal activities, my mummy made it a part of her will that my brother would hold sway over all my properties and financial activities, that is unless and until I married. Then my brother’s hold on my purse strings would be cut. My partner of choice would take over that position. I think my mother’s wording tells a great deal of her understanding of my situation. She never saw me marrying at all, even a male. So John by marrying me you have freed us of financial dependence on anyone ever again. You have kissed the proverbial frog and now you reap the princely reward.”

John had made it to the end of the document where it showed 10 pages worth of properties, bank accounts (over 153), jewelry, financial holdings, co-ownerships and countless other thriving enterprises and got to the bottom line. 

“Mother Mary, Sherlock, this is billions with a ‘B’.”

“I didn’t want to bother you with this prior to the wedding, John. I knew you were working hard to make it a day to remember and it was. This is just the silly stuff at the end, the icing on the cake.”

“Sherlock, this is so not the icing on the cake, this is the bloody crown jewels, enough money to purchase half of the bloody realm.”

“You’re not upset are you?” Sherlock gave his little boy pouty face the one he knew melted John’s resolve, his heart and geared his erection to a 12.5 on the Richter scale, which meant that John was ready to make Sherlock’s earth move.

John threw his arms around Sherlock’s neck and took a deep calming breath. “I’m not upset, but it is a lot to spring on your new husband just before the honeymoon. So I’m just telling you there maybe repercussions of a sexual nature in your near future. You are forewarned. Like me, you will have to take things as they come up.”

“John, as long as you are the perpetrator, I will take all that you can give me.” Sherlock was holding John tight nuzzling into that dove grey suit. “Do you think you could do a strip-tease for me here in the…”

“No way am I having sex in the back of your brothers black Jaguar.” John avowed.

“John, we’re headed for the airport; it’ll take at least an hour.” Sherlock flipped several switches which blackened all the windows including the one between them and the driver. 

John brought out a tiny device that suctioned to the window. 

“Present from Serpent’s Tooth, dampening device; no electronic eavesdropping with this puppy working.” John stated then reached for Sherlock. This was turning out to be one of the fucking most spectacular days of John’s life. He started to undress Sherlock and wondered for the millionth time how he had got so very bloody lucky?


	10. Once upon a Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tiny bit of case fic. Really it's only bearly there.

Once a Demon Prince lay in prayerful wonder; waiting for murderous respite from the boredom of his life. A mad Spider came, Westwood clad, he captured the heart of the Demon Prince in his web. What will you give so your pet will live, the Spider said with glee? What will you pay to play with me? 

“Cheesy, I know, but it’s not really my thing,” Moriarty posted this to John’s blog then turned to his new pet. “I think you’ll find me a really different kind of master, John, the unkind kind.” Moriarty was looking at John who sat at his feet. John was barely aware of his surroundings. A chemical cocktail had been administered to be sure that he would be as docile and pliable as was necessary.

(-_-)

“You’re not really going in after John, like this, by yourself. You know Moriarty wants to capture you. You know you’re walking into a trap. Let me at least try to put a tracking device on you so we can set up some outside perimeter surveillance, some snipers at major points, for god’s sake, Sherlock.” Lestrade was beside himself with anger and worry. 

Sherlock stared into Greg’s eyes. “I know what I’m doing Greg. I can’t endanger your people as well as John. I won’t be alone. I’m taking Serpent’s Tooth in with me. I’ve got an organic tracking device embedded that will allow them and you to keep track of me. It’s highly unlikely to be found. He placed a small device into Greg’s hand.

“Place this in a GPS enabled computer and it will tell you were I’m at. I have to go in for John. I can’t leave him at the mercy of this madman. I just can’t.”

(-_-)

“This is Serpent’s Tooth testing alpha-ten, alpha-ten, can you hear me Sherlock? Cindy from Serpent’s Tooth, Sherlock’s hacker community spoke to him. “Nick and I will be monitoring you for the duration. Say hello, Nick.” 

“Hello, Sherlock sorry to meet you under such shitty circumstances, this is Nick speaking.”

“Reading you both,” Sherlock bearly whispered, because his mic and tracking device were subcutaneously implanted in his hair line.

“How are you doing Sherlock?” Cindy said empathetically.

“I’m not good, Cindy. Hopefully we will get this sorted soon.”

She knew that Sherlock was going through withdrawal. 

Off microphone:

Nick to Cindy: Thought Sherlock had sworn off illegal substances years ago.

Cindy to Nick: He has. He’s missing John. He is addicted to John’s touch.

Nick to Cindy: That’s a new one. 

Cindy to Nick: Apparently John’s touch is to die for.

Nick to Cindy: I got to meet this guy.

Cindy to Nick: You touch him and Sherlock will make sure you never touch anything else again.

Nick to Cindy: Got it.

Nick to Cindy: I’ll take first watch.

“Are we ready to engage?” Sherlock said in his baritone voice worthy of a Jaguar commercial.

“At your command,” Nick stated.

(-_-)

Sherlock walked into the trap. He knew that Moriarty is insane and that is why he had to do his best to release John. John is all that mattered. He set the gears in motion, hoping his ruse would obfuscate the reality of his trap. He also knew that John and Serpent’s Tooth worked well together so the odds were in Sherlock’s favor of him making it out. All he had to worry about is what Moriarty wanted to do to him. Moriarty’s minions cuffed his hands behind his back and took Sherlock to present him to their master.

(-_-)

“Sherlock, I’m so glad you could attend my party,” Moriarty is all false smiles and Westwood style. 

“I want to see John!” Sherlock commanded.

“I don’t think you understand the situation, Sherlock. I’m totally in control here and I decide who sees who. Now I want to…”

“I want to see John, NOW!” Sherlock is rabid.

Moriarty swooped around Sherlock eyeing him as he circled his prey. He could ascertain that Sherlock wouldn’t listen to him until he’d seen John.

“Bring Johnny Boy in here,” Moriarty spoke his smile a broken thing that lacked any humor at all.

Minions hurriedly complied. John is brought into the room and Moriarty indicated he should be laid at Sherlock’s feet. John’s body is throwing off the effects of the drugs administered to him. He is starting to be aware of his surroundings. Sherlock comes down on his knees and nudges into John’s chest. 

“Sherlock,” John recognized his lover and embraced him. He knew that Sherlock had been too long without him. “Love, you should never have come here.”

“Well, I hate to break up your little love fest, but as you can see Sherlock, John is in working order, now take him out and throw him in the trash will you,” Moriarty demanded.

“NO, NO!” Sherlock is beyond distraught as John is dragged away from him.

“Don’t worry, Sherlock. We are going to be having some enormous fun without John. You think you need him, but really you only need me. I know exactly how we are going to play and who is going to win.” Moriarty is hatefully happy with himself. 

(-_-)

John found himself ripped away from Sherlock. He is bereft knowing that Sherlock needs him; needs his touch in order to function at optimum levels. Sherlock had whispered to him as he snuggled into John’s chest.

“Serpent’s Tooth waiting, I’ll work from inside.” Then he gently kissed John’s wrist, an unspoken ‘love you’. 

John could still feel that kiss now as he was being pushed and shoved away from his consulting lover. He made no attempt to resist, knowing that Sherlock was depending on him, game-fucking-on Moriarty.

(-_-)

Sherlock stood to face the Spider that dared to take John from him. Moriarty twitched his lips and ticked his neck like a humanoid reptile. He finally had what he wanted and he would never let Sherlock go again. 

“Sherlock, my dear, you are beyond John Watson. He is beneath us.” Moriarty spoke with great distain. “Now you need to focus on me.” Moriarty opened his arms wide as if to indicate that he and he alone is worthy of Sherlock’s attention.

Sherlock turned his back to his captor; silence was his answer to Moriarty’s statement.

“Don’t think for a minute that I can’t break you,” Moriarty walked into Sherlock’s line of sight. “I know what rocks your world, Sherlock and I’m not above using anything I need to bring you to my side. You will want to be at my side, Sherlock. You’ll figure it out soon enough.”

Sherlock looked into the eyes of madness and knew that John is safe and that is all that mattered to him. Moriarty could and would do his worst. He is prepared to endure anything that Moriarty can imagine. He will work from within the web to get back home to John. Right now resistance is his first plan of action.

(-_-)

John is being driven on the back streets of London. Within 10 minutes trucks and vans converged the vehicle. Mycroft’s people, helped by the Sherlock’s Serpent’s Tooth extricate him from the men who were going to do god-knew-what to him. He is given a small ear-bud device that connected him to Serpent’s Tooth. He is then whisked away to a safe and secure place where he was examined to make sure that he was medically sound.

John rankled at the waste of his time. “I’m fine. Really I’m quite fine. We need to get going on extracting Sherlock from the Moriarty’s grip.

“Now, John,” Cindy from Serpent’s Tooth was chiding him through the ear bud. “If anything happened to you on our watch, Sherlock would kill us all. You know he would.”

So John withstood that minor delay. He was given a clean bill of health and told to force fluids, which he had already known.

“What is our plan,” John accesses the computer in the safe house that he now resides in compliments of Mycroft. He settles in to confer with his partners in crime. 

“We are going to use Mycroft’s people as our boots on the ground, the Homeless Network as our eyes and ears in the streets and Serpent’s Tooth will do everything else.” Cindy had her determined we’re-getting-this-shite-done voice on.

(-_-)

Moriarty knew that physical discomfiture wouldn’t bring Sherlock around. He is being quite the bull-headed imbecile right now. Impenetrable, stoic and quiet; the quiet is so unlike him. What to do, the problem of the consulting detective who wouldn’t play the game? Maybe he should have kept John as a bargaining chip. But no, that would be admitting that he needed John to manipulate Sherlock. He knew what to do to force Sherlock to bend to his will.

Sherlock stood in his locked room and stared at the white walls, his mind a whirl of choices and patterns. How would Moriarty choose to engage him? Would he go for the lowest common denominator?

Moriarty entered the room. “So Sherlock, you think you can thwart my advances by merely ignoring me? I think not. Maybe taking you down to your primal state will allow me to crush that iron will.”

Four strong men entered the room. Sherlock’s arms were still pinioned behind his back. An injection is administered and Sherlock knew that he had deduced correctly. Moriarty was going to try to overcome his intellect with drugs and subterfuge. Sherlock steeled himself. He retreated into the furthest reaches of his Mind Palace and kept his mind free of clutter as the drugs slaughtered his thoughts. Everything became crowded out by euphoria and delusion that drugs gave so willingly. Sherlock clung to his image of John. John was the bedrock in his Mind Palace. He knew that drugs would affect him, but nothing would touch the central core of the Palace. That is where John’s reliquary stood and nothing absolutely nothing diminished that central core. 

Sherlock came to his knees, his eyes glazed and empty. He could hear Moriarty’s voice screaming in the background. “Let’s see you deal with the drug dilemma?”

Sherlock knew the half-life of drugs in his system. Knew that he would come round long before they would guesstimate he would. Felt the cuffs being removed from him. His body lifted and moved to some type of cot. Knew that it was a waiting game now. He had the advantage of foreknowledge of his mental awareness. Sherlock is forced to wait. Waiting is not high on his list of things to do. So he reviewed all data that he had about Moriarty and the place that he was being held. John and Serpent’s Tooth would be here soon. John, please be here soon.

(-_-)

“John, I know you want to be point on the extraction, but really as I’ve said over and over again, if you are in any way injured or god-forbid killed in this; all of us will suffer at Sherlock’s hands, everyone that let you go,” Cindy remarked.

“Okay, draw up a formal contract stating that I take full responsibility for my actions. I’ll sign the damn thing. Now let’s get in gear.” John had his don’t-even-think-about-it face on and his body language was stolid, bull dog steady and black ops doctor ready to take on all comers.

“Shite.” Cindy said. “Okay, here’s the plan so far.”

(-_-)

Because of the positioning of the mic Nick could only hear speech that was within a two meter distance from Sherlock’s side. So he hadn’t heard Moriarty’s full speech. Everything had been quiet for a few minutes. There was predetermined code if Sherlock couldn’t talk he would give a click of his teeth one for yes, two for no.

“Sherlock?” Nick waited then heard one click. “Are they monitoring you?” Nothing. “You are unsure of monitoring.” Click. “We have Mycroft’s people on the ground, everyone is on their way. I am looking at the plans of the building that you are being held in. I’ll be able to guide you out.

Sherlock stood in the core of his Mind Palace and felt his body working to diminish the effects of the drugs. Everything was progressing as planned.

(-_-)

Cindy’s voice was speaking. “Sherlock’s plan was to shake the web at several places at once, entering, shutting down the buildings power and causing major chaos.”

“Sounds like Sherlock,” John said without blinking. “How long before we can begin and can I speak directly to Sherlock?”

“We are ready to start at your command. John, I am opening a private line to Sherlock now. We believe a drug has been administered to him, but he is conscious and appears cognizant of his situation, he may be monitored and can only give yes/no answers. One click yes, two no,” Cindy said.

“Sherlock,” John said the name with reverence. “Hold on love, we are on our way.”

One click sounded.

“Nick, take over the monitoring of Sherlock please,” Cindy gave monitoring back to Nick.

John said, “All units, we are going in at my mark.”

(-_-)

“Sherlock we are hacked into all computer systems in use. You are being monitored. I will take down everything as soon as you are ready. Pretend you are experiencing an emesis and when they come to check you out we will pull the plug. Ground troops are within one minute of your location.

Sherlock gathered himself. The drug was minimally in play. He made his way from his Mind Palace back to his body. He started to make choking noises. Immediately someone came into the room where he was being held and bent over him to turn him on his side. There was only one person. Sherlock took that person out. Nick gave him directions so that he could connect with the incoming agents.

In the chaos Nick kept Sherlock traveling in safe directions, towards agents but not in their direct path. As the agents came on board and routed the spider and all his minions in the darkness they pulled Sherlock behind their lines. He was rushed toward a waiting ambulance. 

“Where is John,” he asked immediately.

“I’m right here,” John is in the ambulance awaiting him. Sherlock is made to lie on gurney as John begins searching Sherlock’s body for any outward signs of injury.

“Can you do that again?” Sherlock asks as John moves on to taking a syringe of his blood for analysis.

John smiled smugly. “Do you know what he gave you?” John asked worry evident in this voice.

“No idea,” Sherlock said.

“You could have come after me with all this back-up,” John commented. “You didn’t have to risk your life coming in, Sherlock. I know that.”

“He wanted me, John. I couldn’t let you remain his hostage. Moriarty was too unstable. He would have injured you just for the hell of it.”

“Because you’ve been a bad boy, you can have a hug or a kiss after I put your IV in.” John was going to exact his revenge.

“Can’t I have both, John?” Sherlock gave his most miserable look possible.

“Hmmm, don’t try my patience, Sherlock or I’ll have the medic here help me strap you down.”

“Please do, John,” Sherlock’s dry humor was showing.

The IV taped down, John kissed his consulting lover. A kiss that made the assisting medic turn away and wish he could open the back door and walk out. The temperature in the ambulance went up 10 very hot degrees.


End file.
